


Love in Isolation

by slasher48



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Ableism, Abuse, Abusive Relationships, Angels' Fallible Understanding of Humanity, Consent Issues, Episode: s07e21 Reading is Fundamental, Episode: s07e23 Survival of the Fittest, Episode: s09e03 I'm No Angel, Episode: s09e06 Heaven Can't Wait, F/M, Gen, M/M, Past Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-03
Updated: 2014-03-03
Packaged: 2018-01-14 09:56:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1262029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slasher48/pseuds/slasher48
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nobody knows—nobody asks, but Castiel remembers much of those days in the asylum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love in Isolation

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: abuse from the perspective of its survivor. Internalized victim-blaming. Internalized romanticizing.

Nobody knows—nobody asks, but Castiel remembers much of those days in the asylum.

Naomi didn’t take them from him, and why would she? The first year of knowing Dean sometimes takes near painful strain to recall, but those hopeless, faithless, solitary days of hating himself and the universe entrusted to him and his brothers: those he remembers, an aid to Naomi’s purpose, he’s sure.

He remembers glimpses of the world outside of his own pervasive consciousness, a nightmare of self-directed anger and penance enacted by various friends and enemies, Lucifer only the overture of a score that would last. He remembers feeling devoid of hope or purpose in a way Heaven would find punishable (among his other countless offenses), remembers wanting the assurance of his friends, the Winchesters, around him, and thinking it apt that he was not granted this. He remembers invasions of his vessel he came to find comforting when he allowed himself to feel them, touches from the demon Meg, to whose promises and affection he was very indebted, and by whom he found himself often rather bemused.

He remembers that the demon Meg—he knows she has another name, but always thought to call her what she wanted, let him sit in the garden and “mate with nature like some hippie”, that the visible Plan of bees became a comfort when he _himself_ felt so aimless, lost to the world of chaos and conflict, unaware of his next action and its goal for the first time he could remember in an existence spanning eons.

He remembers being told that Dean would return and flinching from the news, wishing to be a bee who wanted for nothing, including friends; he remembers when Dean _did_ return, how he forwent grace for manual labor, feeling devastatingly _human_ in his need to grasp something and _feel_ it—an angel should never have to feel grounded by anything, he remembers thinking, as he quietly brought himself back from his nightmares to Dean enacting them in vivid reality.

He remembers being so _sure_ , at the time that he told Dean, that he, to whom the universe was beholden along with his brothers, had no power or purpose to correct the problems his Father had left. He remembers speaking in a way he was so unused to but that felt freeing, wanting somewhere inside him to be amusing to Dean as he was so long ago in Maine, to be his friend again if not his guardian, to do him no harm.

He remembers craving the companionship of something that would love him without expectations—only realizing after he asked how absurd having a cat would be considering their lifestyle. He remembers a distant sadness as he killed the pig to make sandwiches for the Winchesters, a momentary hesitation wondering if he should keep the pig for himself and care for him. He remembers all the _need_ coming from all directions, Dean and Sam so intent upon his help, Meg desperate for his protection, the Leviathan surely determined to destroy him—and Crowley, as well, calling him crazy like Meg and Dean did when he of anyone had _seen_ Castiel’s doings and _known_ what dire repercussions he deserved. He remembers being happiest playing the clever board games humans have created, even as he silently thought how nice it would be to have other players.

He remembers being convinced that he would bring Dean nothing but death—as he did, foolishly, allowing Purgatory to open onto Earth. He remembers watching Bobby’s spirit burn and feeling keenly that he should burn along with it, _missing_ the remonstration of a ring of holy fire, especially with Bobby, that old drunk, scolding him.

He remembers…Dean’s forgiveness, in his tone, in his _faith_ in an angel who had long ago stopped earning anything from the disbelieving Righteous Man, in his certainty of Castiel’s value to him and his cause. He remembers a flash of fear when Dean spoke casually of his own death, as he often would, when he and Dean were now friends again as much as comrades. He remembers feeling the kind of purpose he had lost, promising that purpose for Dean’s benefit, promising his protection and aid with conviction he’d never expected to feel again and then giving it wholeheartedly, earning Dean’s trust by confronting the leader of the Old Ones even as everything inside of him shook with remembering the wretched creature’s hold over him.

He remembers the resigned surety of Purgatory’s bloody death and disillusionment. He remembers telling Dean, watching the horror creep over his face, _knowing_ there was nothing he’d not do to keep Dean safe there.

He remembers. He thinks idly, somewhat wistfully, of Meg, in a very distant sort of way, when he’s alone and there is no one to tell him so much of what he longs to hear, when there is no one to want him so very, very much, for any purpose—even ones so _pointless_ and uncomfortable as whatever act her "furniture" entailed, no one whose companionship can be earned simply by agreement, touch and protection. Of course, that happens less now, with Nora offering companionship expecting nothing he would not give anyway in return, but apart from the lingering odor of sulfur and a special ability to remind him of his isolation, Meg was…easier.

He misses Heaven, in a way so twisted with his guilt that he cannot extract one from the other. He misses when the only family he had was so self-sufficient, so distant, as his brothers had seemed. He misses when the only purpose he had was faith and obedience, even as he thinks with terror of Naomi’s white room built to ensure such a purpose; perhaps that is Heaven’s way, and Nora was wrong, his capacity for such feeling is a weakness that angels have been able to take advantage of.

He misses the Winchesters—wonders if Sam is fully well again yet, wishes to discuss with him the university Nora spoke of attending before Tanya arrived into this world. He wonders if Dean thinks of him as he cares for and protects his brother, during moments when he’s not overcome with a draining anger at Dean for sending him away after so long complaining of his absences. He lies on the stockroom floor in his sleeping bag and stares up at the ceiling, hand grasping for a blade Dean pushed to him to kill yet another brother--if this time in self-defense, or perhaps a shoulder under olive green fabric that once held a mark of Castiel’s pride and protection the Host reviled.

He feels too much for Dean—different from the demon Meg who offered him kindness he's never felt before or since, from Anna, whom he betrayed, from Uriel, before _he_  betrayed Castiel, or Balthazar, Rachel, Hester, and Inias when they were soldiers--before he failed them, different even from Sam, to whom he feels a unique connection, especially when he recalls Sam’s familiar mistakes. 

This is why he misses Dean the most, perhaps, and thinks most of his coveted Heavenly power and purpose when he thinks Dean may _need_ him. He remembers very well when Dean hurled vicious words and angry stares when Castiel was not around to do what Dean needed, and the times before that, when he reminded Castiel of how little use he is when he is _broken_ (though it’s something he would dearly like to forget). That must not happen again, if it’s avoidable. He remembers the comfort of being in the asylum, the peace of being unneeded, but he also remembers being incredibly _alone_ \--reluctantly acknowledges his familiarity with the pained solitude he feels here in the stockroom, to the point that he _knows_ what it is now after such prolonged exposure.

Alone can be survival, and is survivable (even if his recent experience with a Reaper might suggest otherwise), but he doesn’t like it very much, with or without his supposed sanity. He will need to find his way out.

**Author's Note:**

> A bit metatextual, perhaps, with self-awareness it's not always clear Castiel possesses. 
> 
> (Let me know--on this and any other work--if I've not warned for something you were upset by!)


End file.
